


Breathe

by xxwrote_my_way_outxx



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, Chest Binding, Danatole, Gay, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Anatole, Trans!Dolokhov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxwrote_my_way_outxx/pseuds/xxwrote_my_way_outxx
Summary: Impatience was a characteristic that Anatole would always have.He tugged at the elastic and fabric for what seemed like hours, and the way it constricted and squeezed at his supple skin started to cause anxiety to flow through his veins and infect his lungs.Why couldn’t he breathe?





	Breathe

Impatience was a characteristic that Anatole would always have.  
He tugged at the elastic and fabric for what seemed like hours, and the way it constricted and squeezed at his supple skin started to cause anxiety to flow through his veins and infect his lungs.  
Why couldn’t he breathe?  
When he glared at himself in the mirror he swore that his heart couldn’t beat any faster than it was already, feeling as if something devilish had taken over him, and he started to burst into terrible sobs. Why was he such a mess?  
He was half naked, exposed waist up, and he couldn’t bare to see himself naked. He looked like something he never wanted to look like, and the gnawing feeling to claw at it until it went away was overwhelming, but his hands were shaking too violently to even be able to.  
Why was he so pathetic? 

His knees buckled, and he didn’t remember how long he was on the floor for when Dolokhov came home, but he was still hyperventilating and whimpering in his hands. 

He was so cold, and so tired, and so sick of himself. 

He was disgusted. 

But Dolokhov didn’t look at him with disgust when he came into the bathroom. He had no pity in his eyes as if he were staring at a begotten creature. He simply knelt down beside him and helped him up off of the floor, making the sniffling pile of flesh on the floor mold back into a man, as if Dolokhov shaped his being. 

He expected anger. He expected belittling. He expected something. 

But he knew that he shouldn’t. 

Dolokhov wasn’t like that. 

At least not with him.

When Anatole went to say something, Dolokhov silenced him softly with his lips. 

Dolokhov wished that Anatole wouldn’t try to degrade himself at every chance that he got. 

And Anatole stopped when Dolokhov wanted to and simply watched as his lover slid the binder off of him, and shook it out momentarily. He then turned it upside down and inside out and slid it back on to Anatole. The blonde had watched his lover do this to himself several times, as Dolokhov had been wearing one for much longer than he had. However, Anatole never paid much attention to the intricacy Dolokhov had when he was sliding the contraption on. Dolokhov then helped Anatole slide his arms through the holes of each sleeve and tug it up, and the blonde looked surprised as it began to…fit right. A shy eye glanced up towards his lover and he glanced back down at his chest, as if questioning, and Dolokhov nodded and slid one of his warm hands down the front of binder and adjusted the flesh that made Anatole squirm until his chest was flat. 

Anatole looked up at him and offered a smile. 

And Dolokhov kissed his cheek. 

After a few moments of gazing at himself, Anatole slid off of the toilet and gazed in the mirror. 

And he swore when he saw how his chest looked…complete, a wide smile came to his face, and the sad tears were washed away by happy ones.  
He never though that he could look this…masculine, to feel so complete, and so much different than before. The dread started to slowly ebb away and be replaced by something much more than Anatole could possibly describe. 

When Dolokhov wrapped his arms around his torso and rested his head peacefully on his shoulder from behind, Anatole cloaked the other’s much more sturdy hands with his own and squeezed almost as tight as he could. 

“You look handsome.” Dolokhov whispered softly, looking at Anatole through the mirror and found himself smiling, too. 

“I feel handsome.” 

And Anatole was. 

And for the first time in his whole life, he felt as if he could breathe.


End file.
